


do it for your country, do it for your name

by AlainaCorrigan, wonthetrade



Series: that girl is a goddamn problem [6]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/M, NHL Awards 2017, Rule 63!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 19:14:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11319864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlainaCorrigan/pseuds/AlainaCorrigan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonthetrade/pseuds/wonthetrade
Summary: What a difference a year makes...(AKA: How to Congratulate Your Lindsay/Ross/Hart-Winning Boyfriend: A Guide by Jack Eichel)





	do it for your country, do it for your name

**Author's Note:**

> As always, if you got here by googling yourself, a family member or someone you know, turn back now. Like, really super definitely turn back now. Thanks.
> 
> Technically we’re messing with GB canon because of [this ficlet](http://wonthetrade.tumblr.compost/147201446475/eichelmcdavid-being-outed-as-a-couple-to-the) but you know what? THIS IS PRESENT FIC FOR CONVOCATING JOS AND EMILY/SHANNON WILL EFF WITH CANON IF THEY WANT TO.
> 
> We have bastardized some of the lines from that ficlet for use here. So you know when pieces seem too familiar. Y’all can tell us if this is really actually an issue.

 

Jack, in her locker room of guys, does have a weird habit of forgetting how much fun it is to just get pampered with women. It’s what makes getting ready for the NHL Awards a little special: Auston, her sisters, her mother, and then Connor’s mother and Jack herself, all spread out in Auston’s suite. Auston’s suite, because Jack has kept her dress an absolute secret from all but four women and one extremely nosey Leaf, and she hadn’t been up for ruining the surprise just so she and Connor could get ready together. 

She’s the last one dressed, stepping out of Auston’s bedroom smoothing down the satin at her hips.

“Holy shit, Jack.”

“Auston!” There’s a smacking sound that Jack assumes is Ema’s punishment for Auston’s language, but Jack’s busy critically checking her reflection. She shimmies a little to test the stick of the tape, shifts to try the movement of the dress again. This is definitely very far from the event in which she wants to have any sort of wardrobe malfunction. 

“It’s gorgeous,” Kelly agrees, then laughs a little. “Connor’s going to be speechless. Keeping it a secret is going to be worth it.” 

Jack loves the dress. It gives her curves with the careful detailing along the bodice, the way the skirt flares just above her knees. The off the shoulder look accentuates her strength - a key weakness of Connor’s that he definitely doesn’t make a secret of - and makes her feel so ready to face the magenta carpet. “He’s going to swallow his tongue.” 

She’s gone all out too, stayed away from the up-do in favour of leaving her curls long and spreading over her shoulders. Her makeups subtle, Breyana’s work, and Jack feels a sharp little smile curve the edges of her mouth. She looks over her shoulder at Auston, raises an eyebrow. “Ready to go win?” 

Auston’s smile is also a little sharp, even though there isn’t a doubt as to who’s getting up on that stage tonight for the Calder. “All I do is win.”

Alexandria groans. Jack thinks they’re off to a phenomenal start. 

So phenomenal that it feels easy to flow along the hall with these women, into the elevator, down to the lobby where the rest of the McDavids and Auston’s dad are clustered together. It’s an orchestrated entrance, maybe because Kelly wants to make sure she can get this on video for posterity, maybe because Auston had been just as adamant she have footage for the Girl Brigade snapchat. Regardless, she’s the last one out of the elevator and gets a picture perfect view of the way Connor’s mouth drops open. 

It’s not a fairy tale - her life with Connor rarely is - but it is satisfying to feel like maybe the sound dims a little, maybe the woodland creatures constantly circling his head and following him around are also silent as he steps towards her. Jack’s aware of everyone around her, she always is, but she wouldn’t be shocked to hear Connor say he saw nothing but her in that moment. 

He’s a sap like that.

His mouth is still open, still stunned as he drags his fingers down her arm until he can tangle their fingers together. “Jack.”

“Worth it?” she asks, and she will tell everyone until the day she dies that her voice does not shake, thank you very much. Connor’s intense, and it’s even more striking when it’s aimed specifically at her. 

He reaches up, tugs at a curl with a kind of absent-mindedness that is adorable. The way he loves her curls is no secret between them. “Definitely worth it. You’re beautiful.” 

It makes her blush, though she wishes it didn’t. There’s never a doubt that Connor means what he says, but Jack isn’t the type to want to feel ‘precious’. Connor doesn’t care, doesn’t seem to notice he does it with words like ‘beautiful’ and ‘gorgeous’ that make her feel too many emotions. So, she reaches out, tugs on the bottom of his suit jacket. “You don’t look so bad yourself, stud.”

“Have to live up to you now, don’t I?”

“Stop, oh my god, Davo.”

A throat clears, and Jack’s head comes up to see a shit-eating grin on Auston’s face. 

“When you’re done being disgusting.” 

Jack arches an eyebrow; Auston had been just as excited to see Connor’s reaction. Hell, it had been yet another thing for her and Dylan to bond over when they’d chosen the dress in the first place. It is a warranted moment and Auston can just shut her whole face.  

Connor, however, is bright red, embarrassed, but gamely replies, “Can’t let the Calder winner be late to her own show.”

“Please,” Auston snorts, “Don’t lie to yourself. Tonight’s the McDavid show and the world knows it.”

It’s really not the right thing to say, and Jack take a deliberate step over to stick an elbow into Auston’s side. Before she can do more damage, however, Connor’s got her other elbow, a little smile on his face - mission accomplished, thanks - tugging her towards the door. 

The NHL’s sent a car for both Auston and Connor, of course, and Jack is not at all oblivious to the way Connor watches her the entire ride to T-Mobile Arena. It warms her stomach, leaves goosebumps trailing over her skin. She likes Sid well enough, more so this season, after their weird bonding that had been Jack’s high ankle sprain at the beginning of the season, but her confidence, if anyone asks, is definitely with Connor. 

It’s her second straight year on the magenta carpet, but she can’t deny that this time it just  _ feels _ different. This time, she lets Connor climb out first, lets him reach back and help her out of the car. The crowd explodes, flashes go haywire and Jack looks to Connor almost helplessly. He’s grinning though, proud. Whatever happens to night, whomever wins and loses, she knows without a doubt in her mind that this will be The Story.

Admittedly, it’s hard to be all that nervous when Connor’s looking at her like she’s the one nominated for the MVP. 

She lets him lead the way, his hand tangled in hers for all the world to see. Connor fields questions like a pro, but it’s Cabbie that finally blurts out, broad grin on his face, “So, confirm it for the world: are you two dating?” 

Jack lets a smile spread slowly across her face and answers her first question of the night with, “Slow, Cabbie. Real slow.” 

He squawks indignantly, gushes about them, about Connor’s season, about Jack’s even, which takes her a little off-guard. It’s still the easiest interview of the night and she feels the best kind of happy when Connor presses his palm against her lower back. 

The carpet, the wait, the intro are both the longest and shortest of Jack’s life. She does love this, having Sid there, Auston; she feels relaxed in ways she shouldn’t, given what she and Connor just announced to the world. Except this night isn’t hers. She can relax because it’s the off season now, for her and for Connor. They have endorsement things, sure, and off-season training, media, everything that comes from being a franchise player, but they also have time in Boston, time in Toronto, ways to get away now that they don’t have to battle the season. 

At least, that’s how it feels until they announce that first award. 

She doesn’t resent Connor. She’s over that now, but that doesn’t mean that seeing his highlights up there doesn’t feel a little bittersweet. Thinking of his Art Ross winning season, makes her think of her injury-riddled, lack-lustre one and she has to untangle her hand from Connor’s to fold them in her lap. He presses his shoulder against hers instead, whether it’s for her or for him, she’ll never know. 

When they announce his name, she stands because that’s what she’s supposed to do. She lets Connor kiss her cheek, leans back so he can hug his mother, his father. Watches him walk up and accept his award. She doesn’t even have the heart to think up a chirp when he looks so damn awkward with his hands on his hips, talking about Mr. Lindsay, the team, the season he had. 

The season that blew hers out of the water; the season that made their rivalry an afterthought because now she could never measure up. 

She will, she knows that. She knows this season will be different, that she won’t be starting with an injury or a month of extra hockey before the season even begins. She’s getting a new coach, a new GM, a new outlook, she’s sure. There’s nothing but change coming from her team and she can’t wait to challenge Connor, challenge Sid, at least for their Ross and Richard trophies. It’s a positive outlook that helps her look forward to the season ahead. 

It’s also hard to stay that bitter when Connor returns to his seat. He looks like he’s glowing from the inside and it’s such a dumb look on him, but he’s so goddamn happy. And when it comes down to it, she is really goddamn proud. His eyes are sparkling as he takes his seat again, ducks his head and grins. The warmth and giddiness floods her stomach as she tangles her hand accidentally in the pocket of his slacks when she reaches for him.

She waits until the cameras are trained on the stage for the Selke before she leans over and murmurs, “Congratulations, Mr. MVP.” 

He turns and looks at her, then down at her mouth and Jack… well, she does what any good woman would do when her boyfriend is looking at her like she hung the moon, even though he just won: she pulls her lower lip into her mouth. Connor’s chest hitches, she sees it more than feels it. 

“Tease.” 

She hadn’t been, really. He looks confident now, at ease in a way he hadn’t prior to his Lindsay win. He looks like the man that had pushed the Oilers to that seventh game against the Ducks, that had come out of that Sharks drubbing sure and confident in his team. He looks like he could conquer the world. 

He looks breathtakingly attractive. 

She lets herself hum softly, one that she knows he relates to all sorts of good things. His hand clenches where it’s fallen to her thigh. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Captain.” 

She knows from experienced fact that ‘captain’ gets Connor going. It gets her going too, in a way, because Connor’s breath catches and he flushes so beautifully. She takes advantage of the commercial break to brush her mouth softly, quickly, over his. 

“No fair,” he says softly and god, if she doesn’t love this. She’s all but sure there’s no way he sees anyone else, even if she is a little aware of his mother on her other side, his father just beyond Kelly. 

“Hm?” 

His hand trails further up her thigh and Jack reflexively tenses to keep from shivering. “No fair.” 

Jack looks down at where his fingers are spread, high on her thigh and laughs, reaches down to tangle their fingers together before the cameras come back and catch them. “I thought you loved this dress.”

“It’s beautiful,” Connor agrees. “You’re beautiful in it. But.”

He doesn’t have to say a damn thing. It’s all in his eyes, the way he looks over at her. He does love celebrating, especially hockey things. So Jack hums, lets her own hand slip to his thigh, wander up and in quickly, exactly how his hand cannot. 

“Jesus,” he breathes and grabs her hand. Jack laughs, settles back in her seat, but lets him keep a grip on her hand, lets him rest them on her knee. 

He disappears about halfway through to be awkward about being on the cover of NHL18 - not that she blames him. Pierre makes everyone awkward, even David Amber whom Jack has on Canadian authority is actually a pretty good host. Jack’s mostly just grateful Pierre doesn’t ask a damn thing about what she’s doing here with Connor. There’s only so much awkward even Jack can take. 

She cheers just as loud as anyone else when Auston wins the Calder and settles her palm on Connor’s knee when they sit again. His fingers dance up her arm, but that’s nothing compared to the way she starts slowly tapping her fingers against his leg, letting them inch up every few taps. 

“Jack,” he says softly, because they both know he’s still up for one more award that now, given his Lindsay win, she feels all the more confident about him going home with. It thrills her, that he’s this good, that he’s being recognized for how goddamn good he is with a puck and a stick. She licks her lips. 

_ “Jack,” _ Connor says again insistently, breaking Jack out of her thoughts. She realizes she’s been squeezing his thigh and loosens her grip.

“Whoops,” she whispers and maybe it should sound more repentant than it does. She slides her hand down his thigh again, slow and deliberate, a smirk flitting over her lips. Connor hisses out a breath and grabs her hand.

“Jesus. You’re already here, looking like that. You can’t cut a guy some slack?” he asks and Jack huffs out a laugh.

“Please,” she retorts, then leans in. “You like me like this: hot because of your hockey.”

Connor bites his lip and ducks his head. Jack’s smirk turns sharp. It’s fun, to make him blush like this; it’ll be even better later when she’ll be able to trace that flush down his chest with her hands, her mouth. She has plans for him, plans for  _ them _ . She keeps her shoulder pressed to his, drops her hand out of sight, presses her pinky into his leg. It jumps at the touch and he glances over at her, like he’s pretending to keep his cool. He’s dropped his hands into his lap and it makes Jack turn a smile into her shoulder. 

It’s a marked difference from last year’s awards. There’s no pressure this time, just Connor, just her, the recognition he damn well deserves and the drive she feels to push herself harder this season, to be just as much in the conversation as he’ll be for decades to come. There’s less bitter to the sweetness, the thrill, the beauty it is not to have and pressure on her, to cheer for her girls and to cheer for her man too. 

Which is why it feels easy to let him take her hand when Gretzky steps onto the stage to present the Hart. She has confidence in him, knows that he had a phenomenal season, that he dragged his team the whole season. He’s no write-off for this reward; Sid isn’t a shoo-in either. 

“And the award goes to: Connor McDavid.” 

Jack doesn’t get the opportunity to stand. Connor tangles his hand in her curls before she can shift her weight to do so, presses his mouth hard and fast to hers.She’s still catching her breath as he leans over her to hug his parents then heads up to the stage. 

“What a shit,” she says, just as Kelly sits down. 

The other woman laughs. “You sound surprised.” 

She is, a little. That’s about as public as it gets and not anything she’d anticipated. “At least they gave him something to hold this time.”

Kelly laughs; Brian does too when Kelly leans over to relay what she’d just said. 

“Lastly, my family. I can’t thank you guys enough for coming and being here with me. I love you all so much, mom, dad, brother,” Connor says into the mic, then meets her eyes. “Jack. Thank you for pushing me every day, whether you know it or not.” 

She knows from the way Kelly’s tense beside her that the cameras are on them, she keeps her eyes on Connor, the ridiculous heart-eyes on his face, the grin that makes him look so dumb and so happy. He’s hustled back stage as the awards wrap up and Kelly relaxes beside her. “Two.”

Jack knows she’s grinning, long before she turns her head. “Three.”

Kelly laughs, so does Brian. It’s a little incredulous which for one thing, is the routine reaction to Connor, and Jack knows better than anyone, but is also a little warranted. 

He finds her in the crowd as they cycle through the official pictures of the winners, wraps her up in such a way that she can’t help the laugh that spills out. “I guess you did pretty okay.”

He laughs into her ear, happy and easy. It’s a good change, really, from the anxious man that had first sat beside her this evening. He presses his lips against her jawline and she shivers. “Ready to celebrate?” 

“Nuh uh, stud. You and I have a date with an after party.” 

He pouts, enough that Jack knows he’s doing it. 

“Auston won,” Jack says innocently. “Sid won.”

“Not like me.”

She rolls her eyes, but darts her eyes around. The cameras are busy enough she feels comfortable leaning in, giving him a quick, filthy kiss. “No one won like you, babe. And that’s why we have to go.” She kisses him again, quick, just a taste of tongue. “Can’t disappoint Messier and Gretzky.”

He narrows his eyes at her and Jack feels the zing of it down her spine. There’s a giddiness now, happy, excited, challenged. “The afterparty then,” he says, for the benefit of his parents, she realizes, when he leans into her and murmurs, “Game on.” 

Memories come rolling in as they stroll into the afterparty, dark inside, crowded with players and families. They get separated immediately, Connor dragged off to talk to Canada’s Elite™ and his Oilers clique in attendance - and Jack has all the respect she should for Messier and Gretzky, she really does, but she doesn’t need to be a part of that glad-handling - and Jack happily heading off towards Auston and Werenski. 

She’s not sure how long it is before she feels a hand slide slowly down her back, curving just barely over her ass before it disappears. Her eyebrow is already half way up her forehead when she looks over her shoulder to find Connor’s smirking face. “Miss me?”

“Always,” he retorts easily, offers a smile to Werenski and even Auston’s pretty disgusted face. 

“That is the grossest thing I have ever seen.”

“Bullshit,” Connor says smoothly. “You play with Marns.” 

Auston offers him a nod. “Point.” 

“One hundred of them, actually.”

Even Jack laughs then, loops her arm through his. “Gretzky feeding you shots over there?” 

“I’ll get thrown out of Canada for saying no to the Great One.” He kisses her cheek and lets his hand linger again, low on her spine. “You want anything?”

Jack hums, loops a finger through his belt loop to tug him into her. “Maybe in a bit. I’m having fun.” 

“When you guys are done.” 

Jack turns to Werenski with a smirk. “Zach, you’ve met Connor, haven’t you?” 

“Fuck off,” Werenski replies with a laugh. 

Conversation flows easily, who they played with, where, how much of a cult the NTDP is. Connor gets Sid and Bergeron’s support on that one, which is just patently unfair, but Jack… well. Connor hasn’t stopped touching her since joining her again and she’s not exactly in the mood to cut it off for any reason whatsoever. She can’t even be that upset about any Canadian versus American chirping when she knows for a straight up fact she’s going to blow Canada’s Golden Boy’s mind.

It’s just what she does: she plays hockey and rocks McDavid’s world. She’s content with her lot in life. 

“Look,” she finally says, goes as far as to clap a hand over Connor’s mouth. “USA hockey is do or die, and you all can fuck right off.” 

It far from settles the argument, but Jack’s content to lean into Connor’s side, chirp where she’s required and otherwise… 

Her hand isn’t still where it’s slipped to his back, under his suit jacket. She takes advantage of it too, fingernails dragging gently across his shirt and his skin, painting absent pictures and dipping to his belt. It’s payback, a little, for the way Connor lets himself touch her shoulders, trail his fingers under her hair to stroke the back of her neck. Auston watches her knowingly up until Connor tugs a little on her hair to get her attention. 

“What do you think?” he asks quietly, low and in her ear. His hand trails deliberately down her spine and stops at the zipper of her dress. “Ready to go?” 

She considers saying no, of dragging him maybe to the dance floor, of drawing this out further. In reality, she wants to do no such thing. His parents have long returned to the hotel -  Cam’s long gone to the casino - so they walk outside to the line of cabs waiting at the curb. 

Connor reaches for her the moment they’re in the cab, tries to grip her thigh, wrap his hand around it. But the tight fabric of Jack’s dress prohibits that, the same way it had foiled him during the awards, and he makes a frustrated noise.

“Problem there?” Jack asks, like she’s not just as frustrated that he can’t just  _ touch _ her.

Connor leans in close and whispers in her ear, voice low, “Yes. Your dress is in my way.” He lets his lips brush her neck, her shoulder as he sits up again and grins at the way she shivers.

Yet, it’s easy to laugh brightly, to let herself curl a hand around his neck this time. She doesn’t pull him in, the cabbie is right there, but she does let herself curl into him a little, drops her other hand to rest high enough on his thigh that spreading her fingers lets her feel the way he twitches in his pants. 

It’s not the longest car ride of her life, but it sure as hell isn’t the shortest when he’s right there, when he’s so close, and when she still denies herself because despite how easy it’s been to touch him all night, she has lines. It still makes her blush to think of how long his Hart-winning kiss will circulate the Twitter-sphere before someone - or something, it is hockey - takes it’s place. She’s not even sure how they make it up the elevator with no more than their hands in publicly appropriate places.

What she does know, is Connor’s grip is secure and tight on her hips as the door falls closed behind them. She lets him nudge her back and she laughs again as she lets him pin her there. “I’m getting deja vu.”

He laughs with her, kisses her because he’s been holding out all night. It’s fierce in the way he gets when they’ve been separated for too long. Jack lets him lead, arches her back away from the door when he drags his hand down her zipper. The dress comes loose around her torso and Connor makes quick work of tugging it down to bare her chest. Jack nuzzles at his jaw until she can distract him with her mouth, slow and filthy so he moans, before she reaches around to tug his hands away.

“It’s an expensive dress,” she says, innocently because his hands are not patient on the skin he’s revealed. “Let me.”

“Quickly,” he replies and cups a breast in his hand. She gasps when he brushes his thumb, light and teasing, over her nipple. “You’ve been teasing me for hours.”

“What else is new,” she says, even as her eyes fall closed. Connor knows exactly how to play her, exactly how to touch her and Jack has to yank together every last brain cell she possesses to not rip her own dress. 

It falls to the ground in a dark blue pool of satin and Connor makes a triumphant noise as he gets his hands on her thighs, tries to nudge them apart. 

“Nuh uh, buddy,” she laughs and shoves him back, steps elegantly out of her dress and shoes. “Tie off. Jacket off. Come on.”

He’s not gentle with his clothes, to the point where Jack legitimately feels concerned for his suit buttons. 

“It’s not a race,” she says and reaches for his wrists. He lets her catch them, uses her hold to pull her closer. Where his kiss is still just the right side of desperate, it’s Jack that slows them down. “We’ve got all night.”

It’s the kind of thing that soothes him, the romantic shit that isn’t her style but is entirely his. He has her, and there’s nothing in the world like the way he gets when he’s reminded of that. 

It’s like this: his hands soften on her body, stroke and tease where they’d bordered on bruising. Jack doesn’t mind, doesn’t care even. She has a different plan, after all. Award winners deserve to feel good, in her mind, and she can do that before he returns the favour. 

“Hey. Pants off,” she urges and bats at his hand with a laugh when he goes for his shirt. “Pants, Davo. I don’t trust you with buttons.”

“I’m not drunk,” he argues, but he’s grinning. 

“Not on alcohol,” she agrees and kisses him again. It’s awkward while he giggles into her mouth, but a moment later he’s tugging his pants over his ass and letting them pool on the ground. She snaps the elastic of his boxers. “These too.” 

She shoves him back when he’s naked, nudges him up the bed until he’s spread beneath her. Jack tugs off her panties and climbs on top of him, settles herself over his hips. His stroke up her flanks and down her arms until he can catch her hands, her fingers, and tug her down over him. 

“Hi,” he greets softly, sweetly. He arches up beneath her and she lets him kiss her, before she pulls away and gets her mouth on his neck and his throat. She’s nice enough not to leave marks - it’s early summer, when he schedules the majority of his endorsement shit - but she does bite gently at his collarbone scar. It’s a habit, leaving her mark over the one hockey gave him. 

“Jack,” he says and tries tugging at her hands. She slips them from his grasp as she inches down his chest and over his belly. 

“Hm?” she asks, right over his cock, looks up through her eyelashes. 

“What if that’s not what I want?”

She hums and licks at him, just to watch his back bend as he tries to keep himself from bucking up. “Who says you get to choose?” 

“I won the awards, don’t I call the shots?” 

She laughs then, presses her mouth to his hipbone. “Connor, honey. When has that ever been the case?” 

She takes him in her mouth, cuts off every word he could have had floating around in that pretty head of his. She’s an expert here too, and as much as she could draw it out, as much as she has drawn it out before, there’s an element of taking the edge off here. 

After all, she knows from experience just how much he loves watching her ride him. 

She holds his hips down when he starts to squirm, reaches up to let him tangle one of his hands in hers as he gets close. He chokes out her name and she pulls off, uses her hand to make him come, leaning up and over him to catch his sounds in her mouth. She gets her lip bitten a little harder than she’d like for her troubles, and pulls back with a hiss. 

“Sorry,” he tries, and is already reaching for her, tugging her down and close. He’s clingy after he comes, but he’s also warm and Jack lets him have his moments. He is, after all, the ‘winner’ here. 

Eventually, he presses his mouth to her temple and Jack pulls back enough to let him nip at her jaw and her neck. His hand has curled around her nape, thumb pressing gently at the hinge of her jaw to keep her head tilted and just the right angle for his mouth. Jack’s certainly not complaining. She shifts her weight to spread her thighs wider over his abdomen, rocks down without thought. 

“Easy,” he murmurs. “You know I’ve got you.” 

“You could hurry up,” she retorts, because any other response is against everything she stands for. “I’m not the only one who’s been a tease tonight.” 

“It’s your favourite part,” he argues, even as he slips the tips of his fingers into her folds. She rocks against them, but he’s on to her, pulls them back so she gets the barest tease of a touch. “No. It’s my show now.” 

She whines a little, desperate for it after having him so close, teasing and touching all night, the promise of this; after blowing him and having him prone and then boneless beneath her. It’s not a secret, especially between the two of them, how the control is as much of a turn on as Connor himself. 

It’s not a secret, especially between them, that watching her fall apart does it for him too. 

It’s one minor miscalculation on Jack’s part. She loves making Connor come first, but it makes him languid, smooth. It makes him all the more determined to take his time with her. It’s both amazing and endless torture. He drags his fingers through her folds again, barely brushing her clit and Jack gasps. He lets his fingers aimlessly wander, sometimes brushing against her thigh before coming back towards her clit. She growls and whines, frustrated and with half a mind to do it herself but every time she thinks of using her own hands, she meets Connor’s gaze, dark and determined, focused on her and her breath catches all over again. 

When she’s wet enough to satisfy him, Connor finally gives her one finger.

“Fuck,” she breathes, rocking her hips. Connor has the ghost of a smirk on his lips. It’s the only sign she has that he’s deliberately taking his time. He uses his other hand to try and still her hips.

“Patience, Jack,” he murmurs, thrusts his finger a few times. “I’ll get you there.”

“Now,” Jack growls, trying to circle her hips and get something out of this. “Fuck you.”

Connor lifts an eyebrow and teases a second finger at her entrance, lets go of her hip to slip his thumb just over her clit. “You sure you’re ready?”  
_“Yes.”_ She tilts her hips to brush against Connor’s second finger. He adds the second finger as slow as she’ll let him, her hips rocking to get the press of his thumb against her clit and his fingers inside her. She moans when he scissors his fingers, opening her up with every press of his hand inside her. 

She braces herself with her palms on his chest, lets herself get lost in his rhythm; matches her hips to hands and rolls down to meet his thrusts. It’s not enough to make her come but it gives her more than a tease, takes an edge off. She can let Connor take his time for a little longer. 

“What do you think?” he asks, and he’s aiming for conversational but his voice is low and rough enough that he doesn’t quite make it. “Time for three?” 

“Fuck you,” she says again. “Connor.”

He hums a little. “Say it again.” A challenge - it’s in his voice as much as it is in the way he leaves the pads of his fingers resting just against her entrance. “Come on.”

“Fuck. You.” 

Connor’s laugh is low, but she gets those same two fingers back inside her for her efforts, pressing so close to just right. She needs a little more, just a little more but fuck him if he think she’s going to give in. 

“Hey, come here.” 

She doesn’t want to, that’s for sure. She wants to stay upright above him, in the position of power, even if he’s got his own version of control. But it’s Connor and it’s them, and she’s as easy for him here as he is for her everywhere else. 

She leans down, curls herself over him to gasp into his mouth when he presses his thumb just right against her clit. It is by far the first time they’ve played this particular game but she knows he likes waiting for it as much as she likes making him wait. He likes it best when she hands him control. 

“Fuck,” she finally says and pulls away from his mouth, drops her head into his neck. “Connor.”

“There you go, sweetheart.” And she shivers because he doesn’t use pet names outside of the bedroom, just here, like this, sliding a third finger into her to make her whine into his neck. 

The first few thrusts are slow, testing, making sure she can take it before he’s back to his quick, relentless rhythm, thumb on her clit. It’s not about the tease anymore and Jack grins her hips down, bites into the pillow by his head until she comes. 

His clean hand is stroking her spine when she comes back to herself, sprawled comfortably over his chest. He’s breathing carefully beneath her, like he’s counting every inhale and exhale and Jack raises her head, kisses his cheek. 

“Good?” he asks, but his tone is smug enough that she knows she doesn’t have to answer. “Ready to ride me?”

That makes her tremble, press a fierce kiss to his mouth because he’s a fucking tease, putting an image like that in her head. She feels like there’s the ghost of the strain in her thighs already, knows exactly what pleasant ache she’ll be waking up to in the morning. Still, she lets herself get lost in making out with him first, savours the feeling of triumph and summer and two or three months stretching out in front of them where they can make time for each other without the season getting in the way. 

The condoms are in the bedside drawer, where they’d stashed them last night, and Jack pushes herself up and off of him enough to grab one. He’s hard again, curving up against his belly and Jack allows herself a satisfied hum. It’s her turn to tease a little when the condom is on, taking her time straddling him, letting herself feel every inch of his cock as she guides it inside. 

“Fuck. Jack.”

“That’s the idea,” she murmurs, leaning down again to kiss him, wet and dirty. He moans into her mouth and wraps his arms tight around her back. He rocks his hips up and she lets out a harsh breath. “Yes.” 

She pushes herself up again, ignores the insistent sound he makes. If Connor had his way, he’d keep his mouth on her through every second of this, but Jack doesn’t have the time, patience, breath or the consistent flexibility for that. She rocks her hips instead, distracts him by sliding a hand up into her hair, making a show of using just her thighs to pull off of him and settle back down again. 

Connor watches her body move, trails his fingers over her skin where her muscle tenses and releases. His hand trails slowly inward, painting circles on her inner thighs and up, up, until his hand is angled just right to get at her clit. Jack lets herself collapse on him a little, back to bracing one hand on his chest. The other she lets him take and tangle with his, awkward and a little uncomfortable until he settles them on her hip. 

“Connor,’ she says. “Fuck. I’m-”

“Yes,” he agrees a little nonsensically. “Jack. I want to see you come.”

It’s not perfect, it takes a little longer a little more pressure on her clit, but she does come, slipping wonderfully, gloriously over that edge. 

He catches her hips as she sprawls on top of him again, gives her a few breaths before he says, “Jack.” 

It’s almost desperate and she shifts her hips, testing, before she sighs. “Yeah.”

He thrusts up into her, chasing his orgasm, and it’s tender, sore, sure, but in the way a good workout leaves her tender and sore. She sighs into his ear, nestles her face into his neck and grins into the pillow when he finally chokes on a groan, pressing hard and deep as he can as he comes too. 

She raises her head when his breathing has calmed, kisses him slowly, thoroughly. “Congratulations, MVP.”

“Twice,” he says on a satisfied laugh. He sighs into her, satisfied and content, kisses her back for another moment before lifting her hips to slide out of her. “Shower?”

“Yeah,” she agrees, stretches languidly. “In a minute.” 

They settle in the quiet, moving only because Jack is a hockey player and she can’t stay bonelessly sprawled over Connor forever. 

“Does this make it tradition?” he asks, nuzzling her nose with Eskimo kisses that makes Jack’s nose wrinkle. 

“What?” 

“The NHL Awards and sex.” 

She barks out a laugh, pulls back to see Connor’s little pleased grin. 

“I like this version better, though,” he continues, kissing her quickly. “It’ll be your turn next year.” 

“Well, duh. Can’t let you get a big head here, can I?” 

He nods, his face serious, but his eyes sparkling. “If it weren’t for that injury…”

And he’s teasing, he’s being a shit, but Jack pinches his side to watch him jerk away with a laugh. “You better believe it, baby.” 

His grin is wide and dumb and she lets out a discontented noise and buries her face in his pillow when he stands and holds out his hand. 

“Nuh uh,” he says. “You don’t like sleeping sweaty and sticky.” 

She turns her head to look at him with one eye. “You gonna wash my hair?” 

He chuckles, but she lets him tug her up anyway. “Which one of us won?” But he kisses her before she can reply. “Yeah.”

“Hmm.” His mouth is swollen and his face is still a little flushed; it’s not her fault he’s a little irresistible like this. “Deal.” 

She slaps his ass and laughs when he glares, leading the way into the bathroom.

**Author's Note:**

> From Em: Jo, my love, my darling, the greatest co-writer a girl could legitimately ask for, congratulations with all my hugs. I know how hard this was for you, especially this last year, BUT YOU DID IT GURL. 
> 
> From Shannon: Jo, congrats on graduating! You are now officially a doctor and I am very proud of you. Hope you have an awesome day and enjoy your present!! You rock, you are fabulous, and you are fantastic.
> 
> Tumblr: [wonthetrade](http://wonthetrade.tumblr.com), [fullstrengthhearts](http://fullstrengthhearts.tumblr.com)


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